


Ecstasy

by Midorisakura (Calacious)



Category: Criminal Minds
Genre: Angst, Community: cottoncandy_bingo, Drama, Ficlet Collection, Fluff, M/M, Romance, Smut, a little of everything
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-06
Updated: 2013-01-06
Packaged: 2018-04-14 23:49:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,697
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4584876
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Calacious/pseuds/Midorisakura
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The definition of ecstasy - Morgan and Reid.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ecstasy

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own the characters of this work of fiction, and no profit, monetary or otherwise, is being made through the writing of this.
> 
> A/N: Written for the cotton candy bingo square - ecstasy. I decided to be literal with this, and go with the dictionary definitions. A drabble-like chapter for each definition.
> 
> ecstasy (ˈɛkstəsɪ)
> 
> — n , pl -sies
> 
> 1\. ( often plural ) a state of exalted delight, joy, etc.; rapture
> 
> 2\. intense emotion of any kind: an ecstasy of rage
> 
> 3\. psychol. overpowering emotion characterized by loss of self-control and sometimes atemporary loss of consciousness: often associated with orgasm, religious mysticism, and the use of certain drugs
> 
> 4\. archaic. a state of prophetic inspiration, esp of poetic rapture
> 
> 5\. slang. 3,4-methylenedioxy-methamphetamine; MDMA: a powerful drug that acts as astimulant and can produce hallucinations

I.

"( often plural ) a state of exalted delight, joy, etc.; rapture"

Reid isn't high. He's been high, has reveled in it. It had taken away the pain, made him feel like he was almost human again.

This, though, this is something different. And, as erudite as he is, he can't quite put a label to what it is that he's feeling. It's mind-boggling. And, it's wreaking havoc on his ability to finish the crossword puzzle.

_Euphoria?_

_No . . . too many letters._

Reid taps the corner of his mouth with his pen, and frowns. Deep in thought, he misses Morgan's approach, and nearly jumps out of his skin when the man places a hand on his shoulder.

"Whoa," Morgan's voice is husky in his ear, sending a shiver down Reid's spine.

The man's hand slips from Reid's shoulder to the small of his back. It's a gentle, warm touch which only serves to increase that feeling Reid's having difficulty putting a word to.

_Bliss?_

_No . . . not enough letters._

"What's got you wound up so tight?" Though he's stepped back a little, to look at Reid, Morgan's hand remains on his back, causing that unnamable feeling to upsurge in the pit of Reid's stomach.

"What?" Reid blushes. "It's nothing."

_Just the feel of your hands on my back; the memory of your tongue – wet and warm –osculating my bellybutton; and the thought of you, moving deep inside of me, ringing your name from my throat, raw and aching from calling out nonsensical words – moans – of pleasure._

Morgan's smile is too knowing, as is the way that his thumb pushes itself below the waistband of Reid's slacks, and brushes against the bare, heated skin. "Thinking about last night, aren't you?" Morgan whispers against his ear.

Reid chokes on air as he breathes in wrong, sputters, and whirls on his fellow agent. A quick inspection of the room reveals that no one else is there, and he calms himself.

"Relax," Morgan says with an easy smile. "There's no one else here. You really think that I'd jeopardize what we've got going on by outing us in the middle of our offices?"

Reid finds it dizzying how Morgan's voice goes from playful to wounded-sounding in a split-second. It's hard for him to follow, classify.

Morgan shakes his head, and, after a quick glance around the room, he cups Reid's face in his hands and then kisses him. It's short and less passionate than the kiss (kisses) they shared last night, but it still makes Reid's lips tingle, like they've been set fire to. And, when it ends, Morgan puts just the right amount of distance between them to keep up appearances.

Reid can still feel the heat between them, even as the room begins to fill up with other agents. It's a heat which will cling to him for the rest of the day.

_Ecstasy?_

Reid smiles and nods to himself, _Yes, that's the word_.

He ignores the questioning look that Morgan shoots him, and fills in the missing letters on his crossword puzzle.

* * *

II.

intense emotion of any kind: an ecstasy of rage

To say that he is angry would be an understatement. Morgan is not angry.

Angry is reserved for when a suspect manages to evade the B.A.U. for days on end before they finally apprehend him.

Angry is something Morgan feels when some asshole cuts him off on the freeway.

The feeling of anger is oftentimes a driving force. Morgan uses it to the benefit of himself and others.

So, no, when Morgan sees Reid put himself in the direct line of fire, he isn't angry.

He's livid.

He's silently raging at his idiot of a teammate – one of the smartest men he's ever had the pleasure of knowing – and praying that their suspect won't kill him.

He's furious.

He's crazed with fear.

And, when the suspect lowers his weapon, Rossi rushes to secure it. Morgan is frozen, rooted to the spot. He watches Reid's shoulders sag with a detached numbness. Takes note of the shaky smile that Reid gives Hotch when the man says something to him that Morgan can't hear.

When his feet finally do decide to work, Morgan isn't even aware of it at first, and it's like waking from a nightmare when he finds himself standing beside Reid. There are a million things he wants to say, but none of them make it past his lips.

Morgan wants to throttle the man standing in front of him. He wants to shout and yell and rage at him. He wants Reid to understand his fear, his anguish, and his utter terror at the thought of losing him.

What he does instead is hardly surprising, but it isn't something which he'd anticipated doing. It's an action which will no doubt have severe repercussions, but Morgan is past caring about anything but Reid, standing there before him, alive and whole.

The kiss, as unexpected as it is, is one which Morgan will remember for the rest of his life. He pours every last bit of what he's been feeling for the past three and a half minutes (it felt like a lifetime) into the kiss – the passion, the sheer ecstasy of pain and horror, and the insurmountable relief when the suspect didn't pull the trigger.

When Morgan pulls away to draw in much needed air, he stares into Reid's eyes. They aren't closed, the man's lips are still slightly parted, and he looks like he does after they've made love – sated, loose-limbed, eyes dilated, cheeks reddened, and lips plump, pink and swollen.

A cleared throat draws Morgan back to the present. He turns, ready to face the consequences for what he's done, but Rossi is steadfastly looking in the other direction, and Hotch's gaze is on the ground, a few feet from where they stand.

"We need to secure the crime scene," Hotch says.

Morgan nods. He answers verbally when he can find his voice. He knows that he's not off the hook, not by a long shot, but right now Hotch and Rossi have given him a reprieve, and he's going to take it.

* * *

 

psychol. overpowering emotion characterized by loss of self-control and sometimes a temporary loss of consciousness: often associated with orgasm, religious mysticism, and the use of certain drugs

"Morgan!" Reid's voice, shouting out his name in ecstasy as an orgasm rocks through the both of them, completely shatters him.

Seconds later, Morgan slips out of Reid, holds his partner as he shakes, and presses a kiss to the back of Reid's neck. He licks the salty sweat of Reid off of his lips and smiles. He thumbs a pattern along Reid's shoulder blades and simply revels in the beauty of having just made love to the man he's completely head-over-heels for.

"Love you," Morgan murmurs, his lips are pressed to a freckle on Reid's left shoulder.

Reid stills in his arms, and Morgan's heart skips a beat, but then Reid twists in his arms so that they're face to face and he traces Morgan's lips with his index finger. His eyes seem to be searching for something in Morgan's, and Morgan holds his breath, waiting out his lover.

"Really?" Reid's voice is small, vulnerable, and Morgan nods, twines their fingers together and presses a kiss to the inside of Reid's wrist.

"Yes, really," Morgan assures him.

Reid's smile, though it is small and self-conscious, helps Morgan to breathe a little easier.

"Love you too," Reid whispers.

They fall asleep shortly afterwards, limbs tangled up in limbs. Reid's hand is resting on top of Morgan's chest, just over his heart. Morgan's hand is lying on the upper portion of Reid's ass.

* * *

 

IV.

archaic. a state of prophetic inspiration, esp of poetic rapture

Reid, once he hears or sees something, can't forget it, ever. So, it comes as no surprise to him that the poem he read earlier – the one that Garcia had handed him, without a word – is stuck in his head.

What does surprise him is how the poem manages to make him feel. He's used to analyzing words, to finding patterns, and being stuck in them. But, for some reason, this poem, this _love_ poem, only reminds him of Morgan:

_Morgan's lips, after a kiss – bruised and glossed._

_Morgan's eyes when Reid catches the man watching him – half-lidded, pupils so wide that it makes them look black._

_Morgan, after they've made love – cheeks flushed a slight, rosy pink; skin sweat-slick, glistening; panting like he's just run a marathon . . ._

_Morgan, calling his name from across the room – a happy lilt to the voice that was a relatively new development._

_Morgan, telling him that he loves him – voice low and sultry, like liquid silk._

* * *

 

V.

slang. 3,4-methylenedioxy-methamphetamine; MDMA: a powerful drug that acts as astimulant and can produce hallucinations

This is not how he wants his life to end, killed by some punk hyped up on methylenedioxy-methamphetamine – ecstasy.

It's certainly not the type of ecstasy that Morgan prefers: Reid wrapped around him like an octopus with too many arms; cuddling with his lover after they've made love; Reid wearing nothing more than a pouty smile.

In the brief second that he closes his eyes, to blink, the drugged up teen's gun pressed against his temple, hard enough to bruise. When he opens his eyes, it's over. The sound of a gunshot rings loudly, breaking through the teen's nonsensical litany of disjointed words and thoughts, and it temporarily deafens him.

At first Morgan doesn't understand what's happened, what the warmth splashed across his cheeks, the taste of salt, too sweet, on his lips, means, but then Reid's there, gathering him up in his arms and babbling in his ears. Words are floating around him, but he can't understand them, and then they cease.

Reid's lips crush against his, and Morgan falls into the kiss, clinging to Reid like a man to a life preserver, and he thinks that maybe Reid is his life preserver. Or maybe it's just that Reid is his life.

"I love you," Reid's lips are still flush against Morgan's, causing his lips to parrot the movements of Reid's whispered words.

 


End file.
